


Heal Me; All of Me

by Fandompuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arguing, Caretaking, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Romance, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Severus Snape Lives, Severus is a gent, Severus is grumpy, Smut, a hell of a lot of cuddling towards the end, nurse Hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2019-10-05 01:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17315888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandompuff/pseuds/Fandompuff
Summary: After the War, the survivors are left to pick up the shattered pieces of their past lives. Snape is left seriously injured, and Hermione is tasked with nursing him- and his heart- back to health.





	1. After the War

Winter at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was a dismal affair at the best of times. Before the War, the mouldering walls would be decked with ribbons and tinsel, the rickety bannisters strewn with real fairy lights, the doors hung with mistletoe, some of it charmed and some of it not, thanks to the Weasley twins, so it was really a game of Mistletoe Roulette whenever one had to pass through any doorway. Even Mrs Black had her Christmas makeover, with baubles hanging from her curtain rails. Despite all this, there was still a sense of looming panic, thinly veiled by the prospect of Christmas Dinner and party games. 

 

But that, of course, was before the War. Nowadays, there were no ribbons or tinsel. Mrs Weasley and the rest of her brood couldn’t bring themselves to hang up the streamers. There were no fairy lights; now that Dumbledore wasn’t around, there wasn’t anyone who could make them twinkle the way he had. There was no enchanted mistletoe, or any normal mistletoe either; George didn’t dare touch any of his pranking materials outside of his nine to five shifts. It felt wrong to even smile without his twin mirroring the grin. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had reverted back to its original state of a mouldy, forgotten aristocrat’s home. 

 

The famed golden trio had lived there, as the house was still technically Harry’s thanks to Sirius’s will. It had taken the better part of four days to completely eradicate the extensive defences left behind by the Order, but once they were gone, it was easier to organise (it had seemed that Mad-Eye and Dumbledore hadn’t wanted any intruders to go through the drawers or cupboards, let alone enter several rooms). And despite their victory, the Golden Trio daren’t laugh too loudly at their antics, and they didn’t socialise as they once did. Harry and Ron were forever away training to be Aurors (“proper Aurors, Hermione. Not just the new ones that got their position given to them after the war” Ron had explained after a confused look). If he wasn’t at work, Harry would be holed up in Sirius’s old room, sitting on the ground and looking at his godfather’s old photo albums. Or at the Burrow, curled up on the sofa with Ginny, who stroked his hair and kissed his head until he fell asleep. Ron spent most of his time with his brothers, particularly George, who needed all hands on deck at the joke shop. Lots of people seemed in need of a laugh, even if it was artificial. 

 

So for most of the summer, Hermione was left in the house alone. It wasn’t until Hogwarts closed for the Christmas holidays that she gained a housemate. 

 

She had been in the library, which was admittedly her favourite room in the house, curled up with one of the Black Family’s rare alchemy tomes, occasionally scratching Crookshanks’s ears between pages when the hearth erupted in a flurry of green flames. None other than Minerva McGonagall’s face appeared. 

 

“Headmistress!” Hermione said, kneeling before the fire instantly, earning a hiss from Crookshanks. 

“Minerva, please, Hermione,” the witch spoke gently. “I tried at your parents’ home and gave them a nasty fright, and then the Burrow. Molly Weasley said you’d most likely be here,”

Hermione nodded during the brief explanation. 

“Hermione, I have a favour to ask of you, on behalf of Madame Pomfrey. I know you never really got on during your school years but...” 

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. Secretly, she thought to herself: not Filch. Not Filch. 

“But I know you have always held the utmost respect for him...”

 

Definitely not Filch. 

 

“Hermione, now that the school year is in full swing, Poppy is finding it rather difficult to keep up with the general ailments of over a thousand students, and the Quidditch season has started, so you can imagine the injuries there. She simply can’t be nursing at his bedside day and night, and in his waking moments he refuses to be put in St Mungo’s...” 

 

“Minerva, who? No, wait, it doesn’t matter. Of course I’ll help. Just owl me his notes and some potions ingredients for soothers if they’re needed.” 

 

She had not expected Poppy Pomfrey to apparate with Severus Snape into the kitchen of Number Twelve. 

 

..

 

It hadn’t taken long to get Snape settled in the room next door to Hermione’s (“It’ll be easier that way if he needs anything in the night”). Madam Pomfrey had left Hermione with a stack of parchment, stating what medicines and potions needed to be administered at which time, before she had been whisked out of the door to enjoy her Christmas break with her new grandson. 

 

Hermione spent an hour or two bustling about the room. She charmed the dust away from the wardrobe and neatly hung up his starched teaching robes and frock coat and shirts. She then folded his trousers carefully, making sure not to crease them in the wrong places, before settling them on a shelf. She tucked his pristine shoes on the bottom shelf and folded his pyjamas and underwear and socks away into one of the drawers. While carrying out these seemingly mundane tasks, she began to realise how well presented the man had been while he was her teacher. Those black robes, although they made him look like an overgrown bat, clearly built up his image. They made the skinny, frail man laying behind her look broad-chested and severe. 

 

Closing the wardrobe doors, she tucked his slippers under the bed in case he wanted them or needed them at some point. She then set about making the room much more comforting and less like the harsh environment of the hospital wing. Noticing a frown tugging on his forehead, she closed the curtains to block out the bright light of the frosty December sky. Instead, she lit several candles so as to fill the room with a soft golden glow. She then nipped to the linen cupboard and retrieved another blanket, which she rested around his feet, should he need the extra warmth. She checked her watch and noted there was an hour or two before his bandages ought to be changed. She decided to crack on with dinner, and do so afterwards. 

 

An hour later, she tapped on the door gently. Even if he was still asleep, it was still polite to knock. Hearing no response, she backed into the room carrying a tray laden with hot soup and buttered bread, as well as a glass of water. She settled the tray on his bedside and debated her next move. She could nudge him awake, though he looked so very at peace with his eyes shut, frown lines less sharp. Instead, she consulted the wad of parchment Madame Pomfrey had provided for her and quickly learned the charm she had been using to feed him, essentially vanishing the food and drink directly into his stomach. Quite satisfied with her handiwork, she set about changing the dressing around his throat.

Easing away the wrappings, she quickly became aware of the severity of his trauma. Although the mediwitch had stopped the bleeding months ago, nothing could be said for the vile gunk that oozed from the wound. Wretched snake, Hermione thought bitterly. She cast a quick Scourgify charm on her hands and disposed of the old bandages, letting the gash breathe in the cool air while she read Pomfrey’s instruction. She selected the clearly labelled bottle of dittany and used a wad of cotton to gently rub it into his throat. She flicked her eyes up occasionally as she worked, and noted that he must be feeling something; his eyebrows twitched every now and then.  
“Sorry, Professor,” she mumbled, jabbing her wand into the knot she had tied her hair into. “Almost done,”  
After an antiseptic salve and an anaesthetic balm had been rubbed over the wound, Hermione eased the gauze and cotton pad back over the wound. She sighed softly to herself as she vanished the waste, before scourgify-ing her hands again.  
She vanished the tray to the kitchen and lowered Snape back down into a more comfortable sleeping position. She was shocked at how easy it was to lay him back. He was light as feathers, and his bones felt like that of a bird.  
“I’m so sorry, Professor,” she murmured as she wrote a note for his bedside, alerting him of the fact that he was in Twelve Grimmauld Place and to call for her should he need absolutely anything. She even charmed the note to read aloud its message when he woke so that he wouldn’t have to strain his poor neck reaching for it. Tugging the blanket over his chest, she departed the room, careful not to bang the door.


	2. Chapter 2: Research

Hermione did not sleep very well that night. She tossed and turned throughout the night, unable to shirk the image of the gash from her mind. She sat up occasionally and pressed her ear against the wall, should he be trying to call for help- could he talk? Or even whisper? Eventually, fatigue took over and she slept through til morning, jolting awake when she heard the morning chorus of birds chirping outside. 

After dressing, Hermione consulted the wad of parchment and the little case of lotions and potions. She gathered up all of the bandages and salves she had used the day before, as well as a few more mysterious bottles for pain relief. With her little kit under her arm and her mane of bushy brown hair tied back from her face, she tapped on the door.   
“Professor?” She called gently. “Is it okay for me to come in?”   
Hearing no response, she edged her way into the room. She figured if he wasn’t decent, or prepared for her to come in, he would’ve said- or grunted- as much. 

She hummed to see the slumbering professor, resting peacefully in the same position she had left him. Hermione was also relieved to see that the oozing hadn’t seeped through the bandages, and so set about changing them with a clear mind. Time seemed to pass quicker, as it always did when she really got going with her work, and soon the bandages were completely replaced. After a quick scourgify, Hermione vanished the soiled dressings, before consulting the notes. 

She quickly discovered that Madame Pomfrey used charms to do most of her caring. Much like the charm she had used the night before to feed him, Hermione quickly learned a charm to relieve him too. Admittedly she was rather glad such a charm existed. Not because she was squeamish or childish, but because she thought that Professor Snape would want to hold onto as much of his dignity as he possibly could, even if he wasn’t awake most of the time.   
She finished up her caring, drawing the covers back over his chest and pushing his long hair away from his face. She felt his jaw twitch ever so slightly and quickly retracted her hand as if the brief exposure to his flesh had scalded her skin. 

Shaking her head slightly, she cleared away her medi-kit humming quietly to herself. Once done, she let Crookshanks into the room, thinking up a plan as she went. Clearly, Professor Snape hadn’t woken during the night, as her note hadn’t unfolded itself and read itself to him. So, Hermione decided to transfigure a rickety end table into a decently sized desk, tucked a chair underneath it, and turned to Crookshanks. 

“Now, Crooks,” she murmured. “I’m nipping to the library to grab some books and parchment. You’re to mind Professor Snape, and you’re to come and find me if he wakes, alright?”   
The ginger half-kneezle looked up, staring at Hermione with his squashed face, and flicked his tail in understanding, settling himself on the end of the bed.

Hurriedly, Hermione speed-walked to the library, and instantly consulted the shelves. She nibbled her lips and pulled out three books, all leather bound, all caked in dust.   
Carrying the tomes back upstairs, and depositing them on the recently conjured desk, she set about her project for the day: figuring out how to go about healing Professor Snape properly, rather than just keeping him alive with vanishing charms. She pushed her hair away from her eyes, and set about the first book: ‘Evil Ailments: 400 years of curing Dark illnesses’. Like most books in the library of the Noble and Most Ancient House Of Black, this book was riddled with carefully inked images and diagrams, ranging from logical and relevant, to violent but still valuable, to the downright gory. Hermione shuddered as she read some of the headings in the table of contents. It definitely wasn’t a werewolf-related wound, but seeing as it was a bite of sorts, she made a note of the page on bites and scratched. 

“Hm… perhaps… poisons?” she mused aloud, flicking to the relevant chapter. No, not what she was looking for, though interesting all the same. What Evil Ailments meant by ‘poisons’ was not what she had in mind. There were three whole pages on what substances to mix with Arsenic and Belladonna to make them more deadly, more efficient, more torturous.   
“Of course not…” she muttered, remembering back to her research on basilisks. “Nagini was a snake.. Snakes are venomous…”  
Her eyes widened with realisation as she referred back to the table of contents. 

 

Hermione worked and made notes way up until lunch, when Professor Snape was due his dinner, and a few more potions. Starting to get the hang of the medical charms, Hermione vanished sandwiches into his stomach, ensured he was properly relieved, and then went about his dressings. 

She went back to her desk once she was sure he was properly fed and nourished and back in his comfy lying down position, and got right back to her research. She chewed on her quill, scribbling notes on various venoms, adding potential potions books left in the footnotes into the margins.   
She groaned as she rinsed the second book of all of the relevant information, her stack of parchment quickly starting to build up. It was starting to grow dark outside, and when she returned upstairs with tea for her and Snape, the sky was pitch black.   
“Lumos,” she mumbled, lighting a few of the dusty sconces and performing her nursing duties, before returning to the desk, occasionally flicking her eyes up to the bed. 

Unlike the night before, Hermione didn’t make it to her own room to sleep. Instead, she nodded off, her head resting on her arm, a bottle of ink toppled over and dripping rhythmically onto the wooden floorboards. 

She jolted awake when she felt Crooks butting her shins.   
Looking up, bleary-eyed and yawning, she saw Professor Snape, propped against the fluffy pillows.   
“Miss Granger,” he said, he normal rumbling baritone reduced to little more than a dry rasp.   
“A glass of water if you please.”   
He coughed roughly, and Hermione was sure that the extra pressure on his neck wouldn't do him any good.   
“Hurry up girl. It appears we have much to discuss.”


	3. Settling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments and support!  
> I’m really getting into the swing of this story now, and it’s lovely to be writing again. Leave your thoughts in a comment below :)

Now this. This wasn’t what Hermione had expected to wake up to at- dear lord- four in the morning.  
“I… Professor Snape- Of course.” She squeaked, crumbling under his stern glare. She searched blindly for her wand, still half asleep, before remembering it was jabbed in her hair. She pulled it out and a main of curls and frizz, unruly as ever, covered her face. She cast a rather skilful Aguamenti into a clean glass and, careful not to splash water everywhere in her sleepy state, went up to Snape.  
“S-Sir… silly question but… I’ve been vanishing food and water directly into your body as per Madame Pomfrey’s instructions… should I do that now or would you rather… can you… move?” 

Professor Snape rolled his eyes. “Give it here. I detest being fussed over.” He grumbled. Hermione nodded and performed a sneaky charm to help sit him up so he wouldn’t sputter and choke, or get water all down his front, and supported his back with some more pillows. She then handed him the water and he took several large gulps, as if he had been trekking through the Sahara without water for days. He cleared his throat, and then winced. “Bloody snake.” He muttered under his breath. “My thanks to you, Miss Granger. I haven’t… I haven’t had a drink in weeks.” 

Hermione’s eyebrows tugged together. “But Madame Pomfrey said in her notes that…” 

“I meant… I haven’t… haven’t manually had a drink, sipped at a glass of water or a cup of tea.” 

Hermione frowned. While yes, the vanishing charms must have kept him properly nourished and hydrated, they simply went directly to his stomach…  
Oh, Hermione thought solemnly, his poor throat must’ve felt like sandpaper. 

Soon the glass, and a second one after that, was drained and Hermione had pulled up the rickety chair next to his bed. She had even brought parchment, ink, and a quill. Snape couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Ever the insufferable know it all. 

“First of all, Miss Granger, who did I anger enough to end up in this musty old house with you fussing at my bedside?” He said, raspy voice dripping with spite. 

“Erm… well… it’s the Christmas holidays you see, Sir, and Headmistress McGonagall asked if… if you could stay here as Madame Pomfrey is getting swamped by homesick first years, beaters with broken noses and the general ailments of over a thousand teenagers. The Headmistress thought you’d be better off here, where there’s someone to, well, look after you round the clock. It’s quite a good system really, because I’ve been so idle since… since it ended,” she swallowed thickly, forcing a smile and shoving the cold staring eyes of those deceased out of her mind. “And it’s lovely to be contributing to the wizarding world again, and helping people. Sorry. Rambling.”  
He frowned slightly but nodded. He could sympathise with Poppy on that one- as a former Head of House, he’d put up with his fair share of whinging brats over the years.  
“And what, exactly, has Poppy given you to treat this godforsaken bite? I knew what she was using in September, that that was targeted more towards the fact that I lost almost half my blood every other day.” He said dryly. “And given the fact I can see you clearly, I don’t think I’m quite on Death’s threshold anymore.”  
Hermione nodded slowly. Poor man. She summoned the list and reeled off to him.  
“Essence of Dittany, but I’d be worried if she didn’t include that anyway, pepper up potion, dreamless sleep for when you have a rough night… general painkiller potions, antiseptic balms, plenty of bandages and gauzes…”  
He listened carefully and shook his head, before hissing in pain at his movement. “So nothing of any use then?” He grumbled, folding his arms.  
“I don’t… I’m just going by what Madame Pomfrey told me. Do you have any suggestion?” She said haughtily, sticking her chin in the air slight.

“Don’t be so impudent. I was merely observing. Now. What state is my neck in, girl?”  
Hermione sighed. “Before I nodded off it was… better the bleeding has completely stopped now, not even a trickle, no dried blood in the bandages.” She murmured. “But it’s… oozing. Like pus but not quite the same. I thought it may be the venom- I’ve been researching, sometimes dark poisons just drain naturally- but surely… one snake can’t have that much venom…” She nibbled her lip before focusing again. “No obvious infection, no sepsis, nothing. A bite wound and… a knife wound.” She looked to her lap.

“Ah yes… the dagger…” he muttered. “Has that… healed at all?”  
Hermione frowned and shook her head. “Madame Pomfrey seems to have fused the tissues together with magic but it won’t do. Every time I checked, it seemed to be splitting, so I thought maybe… maybe Muggle stitches might do the trick, if I soaked the thread and needle in dittany, but if tried and tested magic isn’t working…” she chewed her quill, scribbling down the stitch idea. 

“You, Miss Granger, are coming nowhere near me with a needle and thread. And yes, you’re bloody well right. Regular magic won’t do the trick. Any weapon the Dark Lord used would’ve been cursed or dark in nature to begin with. He meant to kill me. He would’ve succeeded had I not…” he cleared his throat and groaned, shutting his eyes and muttering obscenities under his breath. 

“Kindly give me that dreamless sleep potion now Miss Granger. Return to your own bedchamber. I shall call for you when you’re needed. Leave that kit by my bedside, and keep that wretched cat away from me. Merlin, I’d rather not be covered in ginger hairs. Anyone would think there was something going on between a Weasley and myself.”  
Indignantly, crookshanks leapt off the bed and stalked out of the room, flicking his tail as he went. Hermione nodded and vanished her things to next door.  
“Professor, if you need anything, anything at all, do call for me. I know you won’t admit it but you really shouldn’t be straining yourself. And Merlin knows, Pomfrey would have my blood bottled if she knew,”  
Snape grimaced slightly. Just as her hand was on the doorknob- “My wand?”  
She looked up. “Oh!” She said. She hurried to the wardrobe where the little briefcase filled with miscellaneous objects that weren’t clothes had been kept. “Here you go,” she murmured, popping in on the bedside cabinet. “They’ve packed a few of you things… your personal cauldron and brewing kit it appears…” she murmured, going to have a closer look. 

But when Professor Snape didn’t respond, she turned around.  
He was asleep, laying back against the pillows, one arm bent over his eyes, the other hanging over the edge of the bed, clutching the tiny vial of dreamless sleep potion. She smiled gently and took the bottle off him, in case it dropped and smashed in the night, and then carefully lifted him and lay him down a little flatter, so his neck wasn’t hanging to one side. She tucked the duvet up over his chest and blew out the candles.

“Sleep well, Professor,” she murmured, slipping into her own room. 

 

She slept for god knows how long. It was light when she woke up, and she couldn’t hear any noises from the other side of the wall. She hummed softly and stretched, arching her back, before sliding out of bed and going about her morning routine. She dressed herself, deciding on loose fitting, high waisted jeans and a baggy jumper, for comfort and practicality rather than looks.  
She was just tying her hair up when she heard a bang, followed by a string of curses that would reduce any seasoned sailor to that if a blushing virgin.  
“Professor?” She asked, panicked, hurrying out of her room. Professor Snape was heaving himself up, or at least, trying to, leaning heavily against the banisters. 

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” She cried, instantly going to his side and hauling him up, supporting most of his weight for him. “You should’ve called me, or knocked on the wall, or-or-or-” she scolded, turning to get him back to his room. 

“No- Miss Granger- I… oh shut it and let me speak you insufferable witch!” He raised his voice as much as he could, though it was still barely more than a whisper. Even then, it was sodden with irritation. “Bathroom.” He muttered, and realisation dawned on her face.  
“Professor, I’m sorry, of course” she said, springing into action, blushing slightly. 

She helped him up a short flight of stairs, and he grunted with each step, hissing curses about the damn snake and her wretched bite, until the got onto the landing.  
“Professor, are you alright? The stairs were a stretch and-”  
“Miss Granger, shut your mouth or so help me God,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Quickly.” He demanded and she nodded. He pushed her away for the final few feet, slamming the door behind him and groaning with relief. Hermione blushed deeply, and wished she had her wand so she could cast Muffliato and give him some privacy. 

When he emerged, he glowered at her, though accepted her arm to escort him back to his bed. 

When he was settled, she went about his bandages. This was, admittedly, much trickier when her patient was up and being particularly stubborn.  
“Miss Granger, I can do it myself” he growled.  
“Yes you can. But I most certainly won’t let you. I’ve got a system, and it’s working. I’d like to stick to it. Sit still and for God’s sakes, chin up.” She said firmly, and smirked victoriously when he lifted his head up.  
She eased away the bandage, and he grunted when the cold air bit at the wound. It appeared, as predicted, that the skin from the knife would was beginning to split again, beads of scarlet peeping out against his ivory flesh.  
“Oh for heaven’s sake.” She groaned to herself. “Just… just bloody well close.”  
“Miss Granger, kindly retrieve my bag.”  
“Now is really not the time,” she muttered, wand between her teeth.  
“Fine. Accio brewing kit.” He muttered, flicking his wand. One handedly, he rooted through his supply, while Hermione dabbed a cotton pad soaked in dittany against his neck.  
“Aha.” He muttered. “Try this.” He handed her a strange looking, ghostly strip of… something. It looked like very thin tissue paper, though under the light, it shimmered silver. “Place it against the wound. No creases.” He instructed. He ground his teeth as she lay the mystery bandage over his neck.  
“Now what?” She asked.  
“We wait. If it works, by the next bandage change it’ll be just the snake bite. If not, it’s back to the drawing board. And my drawing board, I mean my personal supply.” He said. 

Due to his clipped tone, Hermione decided not to ask anymore questions until he was bandaged back up. After scourgifying her hands, she looked up. “What was that… that paper you told me to use?” She asked softly. 

“Something of my own development. Dock leaf, ground into a paste aided by dittany, rolled out thin, then unicorn tail hair woven into it,” he explained, checking that the bandages were smooth and secure. He clearly didn’t think she did a good enough job. “A shot in the dark, perhaps, but dittany and unicorn tail hair mix extremely well. Both have impressive healing qualities, both are incredibly rare to get a hold of, so I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t think it could work for this.” He stopped himself. He could see the cogs whirring in her brain, could see the inspiration flashing in her eyes. 

“Don’t even think about it. I will know if you’ve gone through my things.”  
She muttered something about second year, and how she slipped ingredients from his personal store cupboard right under his nose. 

“Miss Granger, you are excused.” He said. “Now that I have my wand, I can manage on my own.” 

She cocked her brows slightly and nibbled her lip. “Fine. You can do simple things that don’t require you to get out of your bed. Such as, filling a glass with water, magically, summoning books and parchment and such. I shall leave the library door open so that you can retrieve any number of texts from there at your own leisure, though some are quite stubborn in their shelves, and some are charmed to be resistant to summoning spells. However, should you need to get out of the bed, it is a task that I must undertake. For example, I will cook and bring your meals up to you. If you’re asleep I will not wake you, as you need your rest. I will vanish the food, as I have been doing. Should you need help… walking… as was made clear this morning, you will call for me.”  
Snape’s eyes narrowed and he flushed a little. He had almost wet himself like a first year that morning, and it certainly did nothing for his reputation. Potter and Weasley would feast upon his humiliation.  
“And nursing. Changing your bandages, administering medicine. That is my responsibility. You, of course, can ask for painkillers and dreamless sleep, but they will be taken under my supervision. That is my responsibility, as I have promised Madame Pomfrey, and the Headmistress. Do you understand?” She asked firmly. She was very glad she was no longer in Hogwarts at that moment. She would’ve surely been given a week’s, maybe even a month’s detention for bossing him about. She was also very glad that he was, for the most part, bedridden. She would’ve surely earned herself a strike if he could move with speed. 

“Miss Granger,” he growled. “You dare have the audacity to stand there and demand that a potions master take his potions under the supervision of a girl half his age?” 

“Do you understand?” She repeated, folding her arms. 

“Yes I do. But I am not, not, being ordered around like a four year-”

“Professor Snape, for the love of god, don’t be so bloody stubborn.” She grumbled. “You will abide by my terms, or I swear on Merlin’s grave, I will haul you through the Floo to the Headmistress’ office, and demand that she and Poppy ensure you a ward in St. Mungo’s, where they will refuse your wand and brewing equipment, and insist you stay in bed, regardless of how much verbal abuse you hurl at them. I’m telling you now, those Healers and medi-witches are much harsher than I am. And Poppy will most certainly give you hell. Do. You. Understand?” 

He looked at the girl, the girl, half his age, barely an adult, with an unreadable face. He heaved a sigh. “Fine. I understand.” 

“Excellent.” She smiled sweetly. “I’ll be in the library if you need me.”  
She swayed out of the room, leaving the door ajar.  
And the cherry on top of this very stale cake he had found before him was the wretched ginger cat sitting on the foot of his bed, just out of range for a good kick, squashed face glaring at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now that Severus is awake, we can really get cracking...  
> As always, your comments and kudos inspire me to write even more. Should you have any questions or queries, do ask :)


	4. Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus, on the mend, has a few visitors...   
> naturally, he has no intention of actually interacting with them...

Over the next day or two, both Hermione and Professor Snape settled into a routine. Hermione became accustomed to leaving the library door open, and every few hours a new book would whizz through the door, and its predecessor would slot itself back onto the correct shelf. At mealtimes, she would carry up food for him on a tray, let him eat, then return to change his dressings. Severus quickly mastered a few of the charms Hermione had been using to care for him- he most certainly wasn’t having an ex-pupil of his assisting him to the loo. 

After about a week of their somewhat strange schedule, Severus awoke to the sound of a glass smashing, a shouted “You what?” And the sound of another voice shushing quietly. 

“Oh, honestly Ronald, grow up,”   
“But-but-”  
Snape smirked to himself. Blithering dunderhead.   
“But Snape, Hermione. Snape! Of all people,” 

He heard Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. “Ron!” She whisper-shouted “I’ve just warned you- you’ll wake him, he’s meant to be on bed rest- and so help me god if you set off that awful portrait,” 

Grimacing at the thought of listening to the Black Matriarch’s screeching, Severus rolled his eyes and focused his attention on the conversation occurring just a floor below him.   
“I know you’re good at magic and everything Hermione, and you’d make a fair healer at St Mungo’s, and yeah, I can thank you for keeping my arm on after I got splinched… but Snape! He’s a right foul git and you know it!” 

He shook his head. Yet again Weasley had demonstrated his uncanny ability to see things only from his own one sided perspective. 

“Yes, Ronald. I know he was a bit of a git while we were at school, he was a git to everyone. But still. He helped us all.”  
Was it his imagination, or was there a hint of admiration in her voice?

“So now he’s a big war hero, you’re suddenly swooning at his bedside?” 

“Ron-”   
Another voice interjected, and for the best too- Snape hadn’t forgotten the state Granger had left Malfoy’s nose in third year. But that didn’t make him pleased to hear the third voice. Potter. 

“Harry, mate, she’s barking. Totally barking. Right?”   
Severus cocked a brow, eager to hear what Potter had to say. Was he going to play hero? 

“I think Hermione’s doing a good thing.” He said firmly. “She’s helping McGonagall and Pomfrey. And Snape I suppose. I… he tried… well… he kept me alive didn’t he? With Dumbledore. Dumbledore trusted Snape, and Scrimgeour always said I was Dumbledore’s man through and through. I still am. I trust Snape, Hermione.”   
And apparently that was all that was needed to shut the lot of them up. From the sound of it, they had trooped off to the basement kitchen, all in good spirits. 

Severus accio-ed his book from his bedside- Granger had an annoying habit of setting it aside when he was asleep. Meddling witch. He began poring over the text, frowning hard as he researched the most sinister of serpentine magical creatures until the words blurred together. 

**  
Meanwhile in the basement kitchen, Hermione’s temper had been settled by Harry showing her the most recent pictures of little Teddy. She laughed as the Teddy in the picture grabbed onto Mr Weasley’s glasses, turning his hair ginger to match.   
“Bless him…” Hermione murmured softly. “And Mr and Mrs Weasley… they’re doing okay?” She asked, the real meaning behind her question painfully evident.   
Ron looked up at this, at the unuttered mention of his late brother. 

“Mum and Dad are doing alright, Hermione, loads better than we thought they would,” he said grinning. “I think… well I reckon George had a word with them, saying that seeing as Fred’s his twin, he’s the only one with the right to be a miserable git. Then I think he broke down- Dad took him for a good strong firewhiskey after and well… I think they’re trying to be all positive, for George’s sake if not for anyone else’s…” he said. Hermione nodded slowly, nibbling her lip. 

“Tea.” She said suddenly, deciding that a good old fashioned British remedy would lighten the mood. The boys nodded gratefully, and the trio dedicated the rest of their afternoon to catching up and joking about. 

**  
“Bloody hell. He isn’t half skinny, isn’t he?”   
“Be quiet, Ronald.”

Drat.   
Granger had brought up both Potter and Weasley. He feigned sleep as Hermione charmed him into a more upright position and began her methodical work on his neck. She tipped his chin up gently and peeled off the unicorn hair bandage, which was still glinting, despite the residue from the wound clinging to its fibres. The muscles in his neck twitched slightly as the bandage came away, and he set his jaw, expecting the usual sting of raw flesh being exposed to air-

But it did not come. 

Hermione gasped to herself, and the two boys jumped to their feet.   
“Hermione- what’s wrong, what’s happened?” Harry questioned, trying to look over her mass of bushy brown hair.   
“No, no, nothing, nothing to worry about,” she said quickly, dabbing dittany onto the- well, she supposed she could call it scar tissue now- for good measure. “He’s a bloody genius is what’s happened,” she cried, vanishing the soiled bandages and tissues. “Look at that- no open wound- oh, what a relief…” 

The boys looked at eachother, exchanging similar looks that communicated how barmy they thought their friend was, before looking at Snape.   
“Er… lovely, that,” said Ron, nodding and rubbing the back of his neck. He shuddered at the ugly, puckered scar tissue around Snape's throat, and he whitened slightly. Mumbling something about helping George restock, he practically ran from the room. 

Harry looked at Hermione apologetically. “Sorry… forgot how squeamish he can get…” Hermione nodded, and for a few minutes they gazed at the Potions Master. “Hermione… Reckon… reckon I could have a… a word with him? In private, I mean…” he asked thoughtfully. 

Severus tensed under the covers. 

“I… I suppose Harry… I’d rather let him rest for now… Oh! You could bring up his supper tray in an hour or so, and you must make sure he takes the potions I lay out, I don’t want that wound to open up again…” 

And so they left the room, Hermione’s ramblings about cursed venoms and antidotes and brewing and nursing carrying up until the basement kitchen door shut. 

Severus groaned to himself, allowing his eyes to flicker open. He turned his head slightly, to where Crookshanks was purring and lickin his paws on the desk. 

“I’ve an hour to prepare myself for Potter’s company,” he mumbled, voice a little hoarse from disuse. “Though I’d rather you put those claws to good use and tear at my throat, you wretched beast,”

The cat made no effort to move; instead he flicked his ear at Severus and returned to kneading at the table, stretching luxuriously. 

“Cheeky bugger,” Severus grumbled. “Your mistress has you well trained.”

Surely enough, an hour later, the sound of the tea tray rattling and Potter’s less than graceful steps could be heard thudding towards his room.   
Severus looked, once more, to the cat (who was now at his feet), arched his brows, and put on his best glowering face. The cat purred as the door knob turned, and Severus muttered so only Crooks could hear:

“Bollocks.”


	5. The Potion Master's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Severus answers Harry's questions

The heavy door to Severus’s bedroom creaked open, much to his displeasure. For a solid two minutes, the supper tray rattled as the cutlery clattered down against the plate, and water poured (unnecessarily noisily) into a glass. 

Clearly, Potter was, as with most things, inept in even the simplest of household charms. Dunderhead.   
Finally deciding that the commotion caused by the tray was far too much for his sanity, Severus summoned the tray non-verbally, earning a stream of rather rough expletives from Potter’s mouth. 

“Mind your language,” rasped Snape, sipping his water, lips curling into a sadistic smirk. Harry reddened and opened his mouth to retort, but slumped into the rickety wooden chair normally occupied by Hermione. War hero or no, this was certainly going to be a difficult conversation. 

“Sorry,” Harry said, a little too snappily. Quickly, he changed his tone. “Uh… professor?” He started, “I was wondering if… if you could answer a few questions… not had the chance to ask really…” 

Snape’s eyes narrowed slightly. “No.” He said simply. “You can wait until I’ve eaten and taken my potion. Wipe that impudent look off your face Potter, Merlin knows you’ve tried my patience enough over the past seven years.”

Harry knew better than to answer back. It was an agonising fifteen minutes in which Severus ate. Now, the meal should have only taken just over five minutes, as soup and bread weren’t terribly tricky substances to swallow, no matter the amount of scarring around one’s neck, but Severus liked to play with his food.   
At last, when the tray had been vanished, Severus steepled his fingers and glared at Harry.   
“Now…” He said silkily “ask your questions, Potter, before my sanity finally falters.” 

Harry gulped and sat up a little straighter. “You love my mum.” He blurted. 

“That, Mr Potter, is a statement, not a question.” 

“Wasn’t finished. You love my mum. Do you really love her though? Because of you… if you didn’t tell Voldemort about the prophecy, she’d- she’d be here, dad too… neither would’ve died.” 

As usual, Severus’s face remained unreadable throughout Harry’s speech as he mulled over his words. Stupid, naïve child.   
“Potter, has it ever occurred to you that each and every waking moment of mine is spent regretting that day, hating myself, trying in vain to undo what has been done, desiring with every cell in my being to bring her back?” He sat a little straighter. “I stopped fawning after Lily Evans the day I left Hogwarts School with a potions apprenticeship. I stopped hoping she would allow me back into her life, even as an acquaintance the day a wedding invitation dropped next to my breakfast. I stopped loving Lily Evans the day Lupin and I set wreaths upon hers and James Potter’s grave. So yes Potter. I harboured affections for Lily Evans. I grew more bitter and twisted with each shred of attention she gave James Potter. But as soon as they were bonded in matrimony, I retreated. It is highly frowned upon in the wizarding world to even attempt to jeopardise a marriage, and as a shrewd old Slytherin who hung about with the wrong people, I didn’t need the title ‘homewrecker’ under my belt as well.” 

Harry watched in stunned silence. He didn’t even dare to breathe too heavily, in case Snape stopped talking. 

“When I heard Sybil Trelawney make the prophecy, I, like so many, panicked. I was rash. And it cost me everything. Bellatrix Lestrange, or at that time, Bellatrix Black, was already suspicious of me. Unlike many of Lord Voldemort’s followers, I had no blood on my hands. One does not simply turn and leave the Dark Lord. One does not hide from Him. At that time he was at his most powerful. He had armies of werewolves who could track you down just by a whiff of your cloak. He tortured, from cruciatus curses to primitive, medieval torture devices, used simply to entertain his most trusted advisors.   
So I turned to Albus Dumbledore, and I was forever in his debt. He preserved not only my life but my reputation also, with both the Order and the Death Eaters. He knew I had overheard Sybil. He told me to tell the Dark Lord. It was vital I remain in both of my masters’ good books from then on. I told the Dark Lord a vague summary of what I heard, hinting briefly at his downfall. But the Dark Lord was perhaps one of the greatest Legilimens in the modern wizarding world. Even with my strongest barriers up, he saw through my lies.” He leans forward and whispered dangerously. “Tell me Potter… have you ever withheld against five cruciatus curses, from five of the most powerful dark wizards alive? No? I thought not. But of course, I suppose you still feel rather sorry for yourself. I told, under torture and veritaserum, that I knew of only one small boy born at the end of July. That, of course, was you.  
I tried, I pleaded with the Dark Lord. I insisted that Sybil Trelawney was a fraud, that to date, none of her predictions ever came true. Do you think the Dark lord believed me, Potter?”   
Harry was paralysed, mouth hanging open slightly. 

“Of course he didn’t. So, hanging from the ceiling of the Lestrange Family’s dungeons, I was ready for death. The death eaters, the older ones that is, I was to them nothing more than the scum on their shoes, were allowed to have some fun while the Dark Lord decided what to do with me. I don’t quite know what they did to me, though I know I went through my entire store of dittany in a few days. The Dark Lord finally stepped into the dungeons. He whispered to me that Lily and James would be spared. That he would recruit them to his cause. Then, he left. He allowed greyback to have some fun with the traitor, before Narcissa Malfoy took pity and nursed me with food and potions, saying that she was merely using me to test hers and Lucius’ food for poisons. It appears, Potter, that Narcissa Malfoy's pity and gratitude saved the two of us.” 

Harry was awestruck. “But… but what did she owe you for?” He murmured.   
“I ensured a few months prior that her sickly little infant didn’t perish from premature birth.” He muttered. 

Harry watched with widened eyes. “Sir… if that’s what Voldemort did because he could read your mind… how the bloody hell did you…?”

“Last?” Severus let out a dry bark of laughter. “Dumbledore trained me, Potter, to close off my mind completely, something I’m aware you have never achieved.”  
Harry scowled defiantly.  
“I began taking small doses of Veritaserum each day until I built up a tolerance to the stuff. So when the Dark Lord demanded that I brew some so that he could interrogate more traitors, I brewed just enough so that any dose he gave me would have no effect on me. The rest, Potter, is, as they say, History. Leave me. I’m sure Miss Granger is up in arms downstairs. No doubt she’ll be up here with a dreamless sleep potion if we converse longer- I do believe it is past my bedtime.”

Grabbing the empty tray, Harry hurried out, already replaying Snape’s words in his head. Severus scratched Crooks’s ears before the ginger cat flicked his tail and stalked out of the room, most likely to alert Hermione that her charge was, indeed, up past his bedtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a rather short chapter I'm afraid, readers, but I thought I'd keep it that way, seeing as there's a fair bit of information explored in this chapter :)


	6. Bold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas morning inspires a little more boldness in Hermione

As Christmas approached, Hermione did her very best to make the grim old house somewhat bearable (admittedly a rather difficult task, what with battling with wet and dry rot…) with the hope that it would lift everyone’s spirit.   
She spent most of her day cleaning the most neglected corners of their mould and hanging up modest crimson and green garlands. She avoided Severus’s room completely with her decorative efforts- she was reminded of Dickens’s A Christmas Carol and was rather afraid that Severus may put a stake of Holly through her heart. 

Come Christmas Eve, Hermione was feeling a tad bit merrier. She insisted on lighting the fire in Severus’s room, seeing as he point-blank refused to wear anything knitted, and when she changed his dressing, she hummed quietly to herself. 

“Miss Granger,” Severus began, tugging his eyebrows close together.   
“Yes?” she murmured, flicking her eyes up as she dabbed dittany on his neck. “It’s healing really well now, the scar’s almost gone,”   
“What were you… what were you humming?” he asked, disinterested by the usual rigermarole of his wound. 

Hermione looked up and blushed ever so slightly. “Oh… it’s We, Three Kings,” she said. “A muggle Christmas Carol,” she added.   
“Miss Granger, you forget I grew up with a muggle father,” Severus drawled. “I know what a carol is, and the Muggle studies curriculum hasn't changed in twenty years, so I’m sure I studied the same course as you, and as you are aware, muggle Faith is taught at the third year.”   
“And you forget I ran myself ragged during the third year,” she said quietly, as Muggle Studies was a subject she dropped after her third year.   
Severus cleared his throat- a feat that was becoming less painful as the days went on- and arched his brows. “Continue,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “I may be an old dungeon bat to you, Miss Granger, but I do appreciate music, especially that which is meant for choirs,” he said, before looking back to his usual spot in the middle of the opposite wall.   
After chewing her lip nervously, Hermione sighed slight and proceeded to hum her Carol, until she cleaned away the excess ointments and carefully placed the fresh bandages over his throat. “All done,” she murmured softly. “I’m off to bed unless you need anything else?” 

“No. Sleep well, Miss Granger,”   
Hermione practically ran from the room and had a fair bit of trouble getting to sleep.   
Severus frowned after her and cleared his throat again.   
*****

Hermione awoke on Christmas morning to a familiar chill- she had kicked the covers off in her restless sleep (again) and was now shivering. “Merlin,” she whispered, tugging her dressing gown around herself and slipping her feet into her cosy slippers. She set about freshening up, before tapping gently on Severus’s door.   
“Mmmnnnn…enter.” 

She backed into the room. “Morning,” she murmured softly, earning a grunt in response. She turned around and put her hands on her hips. “Come on. I need to change your dressing, or we risk it going back to what it was,” she said, rather bossily. “Now, are you going to get up yourself, or do you want me to help you?” 

Smirking slightly, Hermione went about getting her dittany, swabs and bandages out of her little kit, expecting him to deny her offer of help.   
“I’ll go for the latter, Miss Granger, for my poor bones have gotten far too used to reclining,”   
Hermione turned around and arched her brows at him stretching luxuriously under the covers.   
“Oh, you lazy little…” she grumbled under her breath. “If I remember correctly, not two weeks ago you would have rather soiled yourself than let me help you,”   
Admittedly, she was fuming more to herself, thinking out loud.   
“A lazy little what, Miss Granger?” Severus asked, smirking as she lifted him up with her arms under his shoulders. “Do enlighten me,” 

Hermione flushed deeply at being caught out, and at being closer than ever to her ex-professor. Yes, she had been nursing him, changing his dressings every day, helping him with some mundane tasks. But this… this was somehow more intimate. And it, added to his cocky smirk, bothered her. 

“ Bastard, Professor,” she said boldly, after tying off the bandage. “Lazy, teasing, cocky little bastard.” 

Severus roared with laughter, causing Hermione to flush even more. “What?” she asked indignantly.   
“Nothing-” Severus said after a while. “Oh, if Minerva could see her precious Gryffindor Princess now, calling her Professors bastards,” he shook his head looking down. 

“Ex- Professors,” she reminded him, pouting slightly.   
“Yes Miss Granger,” he said, his beetle-black eyes boring deep into her own. He caressed her hand, still at his throat, tenderly, spreading gooseflesh up her arms, despite the warmth radiating from his steady hands. 

“Ex-Professor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!  
> Thanks for all your support and comments on this story! 
> 
> I'd really appreciate it if you follow my tumblr, which is where I'll be posting shorter imagines, preferences, and other bits and bobs that don't quite make it onto here.   
> Thanks!! 
> 
> Tumblr URL: fandom-puff.tumblr.com
> 
> Enjoy, Lovelies x


	7. Celebrations

If Christmas was relatively boring, New Year’s eve was certainly more exciting. For a start, when Hermione woke to change the bandages, she found only Severus’s empty bed. Frowning, she walked back into the corridor, before hearing a clattering in the bathroom. Exasperated, she followed the noise. “Professor, what do you think you’re-”

It was quite clear what Severus was up to. He was stood, perfectly upright, no hint of a slouch, at the sink, delicately shaving away his stubble. Hermione couldn’t help but watch. It was odd, really, to see the surly old potions master do something so… normal. Even with something as mundane as shaving, he worked with deft precision, moving the razor in skilled, practiced motions, never once hitting a snag. 

“Miss Granger. Do you intend to lurk in the doorway for long? Come in, or leave, it’s rude to stare,”   
His deep voice drew Hermione back to reality. “I-sorry, Sir, you weren’t in bed, and I worried…” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.   
“Miss Granger, I should like to venture downstairs today,” he said, rinsing his face and dabbing it dry with a towel. He smirked into the towel at the girl’s flustered face. “My poor Potions kit is fed up with collecting dust, and I should like to reacquaint myself. I feel a few specific brews of my own will do me the world of good,” 

Hermione frowned slightly. “B-But Professor… how will you, well, get downstairs?” She asked, not quite clocking on.   
“I shall walk of course, and you shall help me,” He said firmly. “I have taken the liberty of removing my bandages, Miss Granger, as the flesh has scarred over wonderfully. No discharge,” he said, gesturing vaguely to his neck. 

“I… Oh, alright. I’ll leave you to get dressed, sir, and then we will go downstairs, but I swear, if I see you in any discomfort, I will levitate you right back up here,” she said bossily, hands on her hips. “Now, do you need help back to your room?” 

He shook his head, insisting he could get there himself, which he could- with a little help from the wall. Satisfied, Hermione left him to dress, and quickly dressed herself, as well as going about her morning routine.   
Ten minutes later, they regrouped in the hallway, and Hermione arched her brows. There Severus stood, in his usual woolen frock coat, starched white collar peeking out from underneath, sleeves buttoned tight to his wrists, frock coat buttoned tight up to his throat. Even his trousers had buttons on the cuffs. 

“Shall we?” Hermione murmured, and they set off towards the stairs. She let Severus get a good firm grip on the banister, before taking is left arm. They began making their way downstairs, at a rather slow pace. With his spare hand, Severus clutched onto Hermione’s arm, though his face remained still and expressionless. At the bottom of the stairs, he was a little breathless, but for the most part alright. With Hermione’s hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, they made their way into a room just off from the basement kitchen. With a wave of her wand, Hermione lit the sconces, casting pale light into the room, revealing a scrubbed wooden table and stool. 

Severus summoned his potions kit after Hermione helped him into the stool, and within minutes he had the cauldron heating up, and a spiky-looking plant on the cutting board. Hermione leant against the wall, folding her arms and watching quietly. She marvelled at how quickly he could strip the leaves off the shoot of the plant, and chop them finely enough that they looked like a powder. How his long fingers walked delicately over a tray of jars before picking out the one he needed, unscrewing it carefully and depositing its contents into the cauldron. She watched as he began grinding snake fangs in his pestle and mortar, and nibbled her lip as his wrist settled into a smooth, comfortable circular motion, providing just enough pressure that the fangs turned to dust, but weren’t over-worked. 

“Miss Granger, I refer you to our earlier conversation. It is rude to stare,” he said lowly, stirring thrice counterclockwise.   
“I’m not staring,” she said abruptly, flushing bright pink.   
“Don’t give me that. I can feel your eyes boring into the back of my skull,” he said, turning the flame down so the potion could simmer. “Or rather, boring into my hands,” he said slyly, smirking to himself.   
“Now, this needs to simmer for an hour, then I shall be ready to take it, until then, i plan on sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of hot tea, with my book.”

“That sounds like a plan sir,” Hermione murmured, helping him up. She brewed tea for them both, discovering that Severus had quite a sweet tooth (“Black, two sugars, please,”). Setting their mugs down, Hermione settled herself on the bench with her book, and the pair of them eased into a comfortable silence, the only noises being the turning of the pages and the sipping of tea.   
An hour later, Severus eased himself out of the chair, his knee brushing against Hermione’s in the process. Hermione flushed deeply, looking determinedly down at her book, as Severus went to bottle his potion. She took a few deep breaths and mentally scolded herself, telling herself to get it together. When Severus rejoined her, she flicked her eyes up to him. “Well?” She asked. 

“Pepper-up potion, with a little extra kick,” he said returning to his seat. “Works wonders,”   
They settled back into their silence and spent most of the day reading, pausing only to eat.   
When the front door opened and shut, and a gaggle of voices could be heard in the hallway, Severus looked up sharply to Hermione.   
Harry, Ron, and most of the Weasleys poured into the kitchen. “Harry- what’re you… why’re you here?” Hermione asked weakly.   
“‘Mione, it’s new year!” Ron said, pushing a bottle of butter beer towards her. She set it aside and frowned, looking to Mrs Weasley, as she knew she’d get a sensible answer from her. 

“Hello, dear,” she said kindly, scooping her into a rib-crushing hug. “Christmas was a quiet affair, and Ronald thought you could do with some fun. And the house is… well… it’s not the same w-without F-Fred…” she trailed off, tears twinkling in her eyes. George came to her side instantly with an arm around her shoulder. “Basically, Fred’s spirit is lingering and turning us all into miserable gits, and his twin can’t get up to mischief in those conditions,” he said lightly, rubbing his mother’s arm. “So we thought we’d bring some of the mischief here,” he said, grinning slightly as Ron and Harry set bottles of firewhiskey onto the table. 

“Oh, Joy,” Severus muttered. 

***   
Despite his grumbling, Severus had to admit, it was a fairly good celebration, given the recent events. Nobody, not even him, could deny that Mrs Weasley was an excellent cook, and they all gratefully accepted large portions of roast beef and potatoes, as well as generous helpings of her famous gravy.   
Fed, satisfied, and slightly sleepy, they all retired into one of the cleaner, friendlier living rooms, sharing memories and stories, George cracking jokes every now and then.   
At a quarter to midnight, Mrs Weasley was red faced and tipsy, giggling like a girl, Ron and Harry were fooling about and slurring, and even Severus was a tad inebriated, though no one as much as Hermione. She was an unashamed lightweight, the butt of many a joke within her friendship group, and after a few firewhiskeys, her eyes were twinkling, and she was giggling happily, looking more alive than she had in months.   
“Hmm… love you two,” she said, pulling Harry and Ron close. “What would I do without my boys?” She kissed Harry on the cheek and ruffled Ron’s hair.   
“Dunno, ‘Mione,” Ron slurred. “Prob’ly be Min’ster of Magic,”   
She giggled slightly, and poured herself another drink, sitting down on the arm of a chair. She squealed when the glass was plucked out of her hand.   
“You’ve had enough,” a low voice murmured in her ear, causing shivers to run down her back. She instinctively leaned towards the source of the noise.   
“Oh… Fine,” she said, as the firewhiskey in the glass vanished, and was replaced with plain, cool water.   
“D’you know, Snape,” she murmured, sipping the water. “You’re not half bad,” she grinned. “And you’re very good at potions,” she said giggling slightly, poking his chest.   
She didn’t quite catch his reply, as the countdown to the new year began.   
“What?” She asked, as he settled himself into the armchair she was perched on the arm of.   
“I said,” he began, as the rest yelled out “Five”, “That I should hope so,” he murmured, with four seconds to midnight.   
“Three!”  
He tucked an unruly curl behind Hermione’s ear.   
“Two!”  
He pulled Hermione’s small frame into his lap.   
“One!”   
Hermione hummed, as he cupped the back of her head, pressing his lips to hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading!   
> Be sure to follow me on tumblr for more! 
> 
> fandom-puff.tumblr.com 
> 
> Xx


	8. Forgive Me

“Morning, Sunshine,”  
Hermione groaned and tugged the bedsheets closer. Her head thrummed and throbbed, her throat was dry and tasted like rotten dragon dung, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep for the next few centuries. The first part she had accomplished: she was on her side with her knees tucked to her chest, the top of her curly head poking out at the top. The second part, the sleeping part, she was yet to sort out. 

And it would have been one hell of a lot easier if she didn’t have the bat of the Hogwarts Dungeons shaking her shoulder firmly. 

“Bugger off,” she complained. “Let me wallow in self-regret alone,” she tugged the blankets over her eyes.   
“Oh, for heaven’s- you’re behaving like a child. I’ll pour the hangover cure down the sink then shall I, Miss Granger, while you ‘wallow’?”   
Her ears pricked, much like a curious dog’s. “Keep talking,” she mumbled, sitting up in bed, though she remained in her cocoon of blankets.   
“Hangover potion. For you. For your hangover,” he said, lowering himself into an armchair- although he hated to admit it, it was still difficult to stand for prolonged amounts of time. “Seeing as the strong and stubborn Miss Granger lacks the ability to hold her liquor,”

Colour rose to her cheeks- she hadn’t been that bad, had she?  
“It’s alright. I managed to keep Weasley- the younger- at bay,” with a threatened hex, he thought acidly, Weasley had been more than willing to ‘escort’ her back to her room. 

Hermione frowned and rubbed her eyes slightly. “Go on then. Please? Promise I won't behave like a child,” she murmured, reaching a small hand from out of her blankets. “Please?” 

Severus was glad for his tight buttons- Miss Granger would be unable to see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly. As she tipped the small vial of potion down her throat, the tip of her tongue peeking out to swipe away the leftover, he was reminded of the New Year’s Eve celebrations. The way she had melted into his arms, the way she kissed him sweetly, the way she giggled breathily when she pulled away, a light blush staining her cheeks. She had nibbled her lip slightly, before slipping away off his lap. He thought it improper to chase after her- he had already… kissed her. 

Hermione re-corked the bottle and looked up, feeling the warmth spread through her veins instantly. “Thanks,” she murmured. Severus was looking at her oddly. He was in the room, but his mind was elsewhere, she could tell. She chewed her lip slightly, remembering something vaguely… no, she wasn’t remembering another’s lips pressed against her own. She was thinking of the warmth of the firewhiskey; nobody in their right mind would actually kiss her. 

He nodded curtly and pocketed the bottle. “Did you… did you enjoy the New Year, Miss Granger?” he asked, a little hoarsely. He hoped to whatever power there was that she linked it to his mangled throat, not his muddled nerves. 

“From what I can remember… I suppose so,” she said, grinning slightly. “Felt good to do something fun,”  
subconsciously, she traced her thumb over her lower lip thoughtfully. Severus could feel his pulse throb in his neck. “And… what do you remember, Miss Granger?”

Ah. That got her to blush. He rather liked not being in the hot-seat. “I… I think I kissed someone. Or I was kissed… but you said you kept Ronald away,”  
“That I did,” he murmured, reaching to tuck an unruly curl behind her ear. Hermione instinctively nuzzled into the familiar touch, shutting her eyes and sighing softly.   
“It was you,” she whispered softly, as if afraid to break the spell. “It was you,”

“Miss Granger, forgive me. I.. it was too forward of me, too crass. I did not think,” he avoided her gaze truly afraid. Here he was, a grown man praying for forgiveness from a girl who still had her life ahead of her, an ex-pupil of his, no less.   
“Professor-”  
“I understand- I can pack up my things and go. I could go to Spinner’s End, get Poppy to check up on me. My deepest apolo-”

She was kissing him. She, Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, with a plethora of opportunities around each corner she turned, was kissing the greasy slimeball he was. 

Merlin’s bollocks. 

She hummed, tugging him closer, though she was careful not to jar his neck too much. She trailed a hand up carefully to thread through his dark hair, rubbing his scalp soothingly, as if he were a skittish animal ready to flee. A low hum rumbled in his chest as he slowly pushed the bedsheets off her shoulders, revealing her creamy flesh to him. He nudged the neckline of her t-shirt away, his breath skipping across her neck in hot puffs.   
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, nuzzling his noses into the crook of her neck, pressing kissing to her pulse.   
“Absolutely not,” she murmured, tipping her head back and gripping his hair. 

Hours, weeks, could have passed, but there, the pair of them huddled onto Hermione’s little bed, time slowed right down. Severus had reduced to a whimpering, whining mess, wriggling under feather-light caresses, hot, open-mouthed kisses, and tantalisingly gentle bites to her neck.   
Groaning, she hooked her leg over his hip, feeling a telling hardness press against her inner thigh, and sending her head west. With a small buck of her hips, he groaned in her ear, nipping the lobe and suckling to soothe it.   
“Please,” she wined, trembling.   
“I… no, Miss Granger. Not like this. I-I’m not worthy of you, I won’t allow you to give yourself to me, I’m too old, too ugly, too cruel, too evil. You deserve someone much younger, better, handsome… forgive me,” he whispered, gently removing her gripping fingers from his robes. 

She sat up sharply, leaning back on her elbows, cheeks scarlet, chest heaving, mouth wide open as he slipped out of her room.


	9. Deserving

The following days filled with tension and awkward looks merged into weeks of simmering frustration, threatening to boil over at any minute. Hermione buried herself in her research, spending more time in the library than she had in her third year. She only seemed to emerge to ensure the potions she had left on Severus’s bedside had been taken; his wound had scarred over and no longer needed her gentle touch to change and dress it. She never stayed long, and Severus was very good at feigning sleep, so whenever he heard her light footsteps coming up the landing, he quickly shut his eyes and assumed his normal sleeping position. Although he couldn’t see her, he could feel her presence, the way she moved carefully, her soft breaths and sighs when she was deep in thought, the flash of warmth he felt when she cast her monitoring charms (she no longer touched him, even to check his temperature). 

He loathed that he missed it. 

“I’m going soft in the head,” he muttered to the ginger cat at the foot of his bed once he was sure his owner was well out of earshot.   
“Oh, don’t look at me like that, you're hardly dignified yourself, Crookshanks, finding no shame in licking your arse right as I take my meals,” 

Crookshanks glared at him with his bright yellow eyes.   
“Oh, hush,” Severus said, as Crookshanks settled himself on his lap. “You’ll cover me in ginger fluff,” he said grouchily but made absolutely no effort to push the cat off him.   
**************

Days later, Hermione was in the kitchen, stirring a saucepan full of stew, ready to vanish it to his bedside, when she heard a familiar limping gait enter the kitchen. 

“You ought to be in bed, you’ll overexert yourself,” she said shortly, in a quiet voice, not turning around. The bench scraped against the floor as he dragged it out, sitting down. He couldn’t help the sigh of relief. 

Stubborn old bastard still wouldn’t admit he wasn’t as strong as he used to be. 

“I thought I’d sup in the dining room like a functional member of society today,” he said, summoning a glass and a bottle of butterbeer.   
Hermione let out a ‘ha!’ of laughter. Since when had Severus Snape been a functioning member of society? He cocked a brow at her outburst but did not pursue it. He watched as she plated up, and admired the smooth column of her neck, the way a stray curl trailed down it, escaping the confines of the messy bun held together by her wand being jabbed through its core. He trailed his eyes over the slopes of her shoulders, the way they dipped back under her shirt, the planes of her shoulderblades most likely unexplored. He admired the soft curve of her waist, the smooth, feminine lines of her hips and her legs, her delicate ankles… 

She turned around with two steaming bowls of fresh stew and he focused on his butterbeer. She sat, not across from him as she usually would, but down at the other end of the table where she had left her book. This did not go unnoticed by Severus. He raised both eyebrows and turned to her. 

“Miss Granger, you cannot avoid me forever,” he sighed. He did not sound angry, not even frustrated. If anything, his voice was laced with exhaustion, almost exasperation.   
She did not answer, nor even look up from her book. Still, he continued. 

“I am a stubborn man, Miss Granger,” he murmured. “What happened… between us, was- it cannot happen again-”

Hermione looked up slowly.   
“I was your teacher… I’m twenty years your senior, my behaviour these past years has been, for lack of a better term, shockingly shite. I was a death eater. You… you and your friends hate me,”

“Do you think any of that bothers me?” she whispered. 

“Miss Granger, you don’t deserve me. You deserve someone much younger… more handsome and whole and pure… not a slimy old double-agent…” he turned his head away, ashamed of his feelings, unable to face her glistening brown eyes.

“What if… what if I don’t want someone younger and whole and pure?” she said, setting her spoon down. 

“You have your life ahead of you, a myriad of young suitors pecking at your feet, no doubt… Ronald, for example, you’ve always made quite the pair,” he muttered, his hair hanging in front of his face. 

“Ha!” she said bitterly. “Me? With Ron? What, so he can brag to his brothers and Quidditch mates, going on about any private life we may have? No thank you,” she said flushing. “It’d be the talk of the locker room,” she put on a deep, impish voice. “‘O-ho, Weasley’s finally fucked the prude,’” 

Severus watched as she ranted, the way her eyebrows knitted together, the way her cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of pink, the way she began to breathe much heavier. Still, his self-loathing niggled on at him. 

“Fine, point proven. Not Ronald. But my point still stands. You don’t want to waste yourself on the likes of me. You don’t deserve that, not after everything you’ve been through,”

“After everything I’ve been through? Sev- Professor, you’ve been through that at least four times over,” she looked at him pleadingly.   
“Miss Granger, don’t you see what I’m getting at?” he said agitated, yet still admiring the fire within her. 

“I see exactly what you’re getting at!” she said, leaning across the table. “I see a man who does not want to hurt anyone but himself, so he rejects his true feelings. Don’t.”

“You deserve more-”

“I don’t want more! I don't want a ‘myriad of suitors pecking at my feet’! I don't want silly little flings with boys who get frustrated when I’d rather get on with my work than be a little toy! I don’t want a younger, whole, purer, more handsome man. Severus- I-I want you,” 

Severus gulped and was unable to tell if the swell in his throat was emotional or from his injuries. 

“You're entirely sure?” he said hoarsely.   
“Truly,”  
“Then I am yours,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this story comes to an end, I must share my future plans with you, readers.   
> I've no CLEAR ideas as of yet, but I do know that I would vaguely like to do a werewolf!Hermione x Remus fic, but I'm yet to figure that out. 
> 
> I also publish my shorter works and reader inserts on my tumblr, which i would love for you to check out- i take requests on there as well, so if you want to see something in particular, theres the place to go!
> 
> Tumblr URL: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fandom-puff 
> 
> There's still one more chapter of this (maybe two, not sure) so don't worry :)


	10. Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermione and Severus solidify their adoration towards one anither

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains SMUT.   
> However, it is also the end of this story, I’m afraid. I’ve absolutely loved writing this, and I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it too! 
> 
> If you have any suggestions of what you want me to write, then tell me! I absolutely love getting to write specifically for you (yes you) :) 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks, nerds   
> :)

He must be in heaven, truly. And he really didn’t deserve to be, given all the evil he had done. Surely he was dreaming, or drunk, or drugged. Or maybe he was still as decrepit and weak as he was all those months ago… 

There was, however, one thing that grounded him: the soft weight of the sleeping woman pressed into his side. Rubbing her stomach gently, he nuzzled his nose into the mess of chestnut curls, breathing in the scent that was distinctly… her. He sighed contently and replayed the last hours over and over, shutting his eyes and settling with his arms wrapped protectively around her. 

***  
Her eyes had been so wide when he proclaimed that he was hers. It was rather, endearing, he found, and he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, before resting his chin atop her head. He worried that when (and if) this moment came, his masculine urges would overcome him, and he would take her over the dining table, or in his lab, or when both of them were in a drunken stupour. That did not happen, and he couldn’t be more glad. Instead, he found just kissing her and holding her in his arms like handling beautifully blown glass, and he was afraid to manhandle her, to damage her beautiful porcelain form. 

She couldn’t help the soft noises that escaped her throat; the hums when he caresses her cheeks, her neck, her arms; the moans when he tugged at her lip with his uneven teeth; the sighs when his tongue grazed over her own. Bliss. Pure bliss. She could’ve stayed like this, kissing on the bench in the dining room for an eternity, but a hot, pleasant churning in the pit of her belly told her there were much more… pleasurable things to come. 

Severus was slightly annoyed at his own weakness- he had wanted to carry her to either of their bedrooms, still kissing her all the way up the stairs while holding her close to his chest. Instead he had to make do with her walking by his side, with a hand running up and down his spine. He made to push the door to her bedroom open when she stopped his hand gently, murmuring that Crookshanks would not take too kindly to being banished from his own room. Severus chuckled dryly and nodded, letting Hermione steer him into his bedroom before smiling softly and shutting the door. 

He took a moment to admire the angel that stood before him. He usually wild hair was on a whole new level, ruffled by his wandering hands. He hummed and brushed away a stray curls, so that he could see her perfectly imperfect face. He observed her worrying her lower lip before kissing it gently, ignoring the dry skin left due to her habit. He kissed her forehead and each of her cheeks, memorising the patterns of her inconsistent smattering of summer freckles. He kissed every inch of her face that he could, just to hear the sweet tinkling sound of her giggling over and over. He smiled softly as he pulled away, and caressed her blushing cheeks with the pad of his thumb. 

“Sit down,” she murmured gently, walking him backwards. “Please, P-Professor,”   
He smiled. Even with her hair rumpled and her cheeks flushed brilliantly red, she stuck to her formalities. “If we are to continue with this… you’re to call me by my given name,” he murmured softly. “Severus. Say it, please” he whispered. It had been well over a decade before he had heard his name uttered truly lovingly. He craved it.   
“Severus,” She murmured, and he shuddered at the perfect way it rolled off her tongue. “Then you ought to call me Hermione, don’t you think?” She hummed, shutting he eyes as she settled herself astride him, a knee on either side of his thighs. She didn’t settle her weight on him just yet.   
“Of course,” He said, brushing her knuckles with his lips, “Hermione,” he mumbled against the palm of her hand, before pressing another kiss to it. 

And so they stayed this way, for god knows how long, murmuring sweetness to one another, caressing and holding and kissing. It wasn’t long before Hermione felt a telling firmness pressing to her stomach as they lay facing one another, and she flushed even redder (if that was at all possible). This did not go unnoticed by Severus, who cupped his lover’s cheek and directed her gaze to his.   
“Hermione?” He mumbled, stroking her cheek to soothe any worries that may be whizzing in her head. “We do not have to progress to that tonight, not if you don’t want to,” he said, eyes scanning her face lovingly.   
“No, Severus, I want to, bloody hell, I just…”  
He kissed her forehead gently. “Are you a virgin?” He murmured.   
“Well… define ‘virgin’” she mumbled, blushing and squirming. “Viktor and I… messed around, but he never… we never…”  
“Engaged in sexual intercourse?” He supplied for her, kissing her forehead once again, part of him loving her bashfulness.   
She nodded and he kissed her lips softly. “I refer to my earlier statement. If you are uncomfortable, we do not have to engage in any coital activities,” he reassured and she nibbled her lip. Squaring her jaw, having made up her mind, she clasped his hand in hers and pulled it to her chest.   
“I want you,” She said firmly, “and I am comfortable with this,” she said, breathless as he nodded and began to palm her clothed breasts. Of her own accord, she shucked off her T-shirt, and his eyes widened as he swallowed thickly. She turned back to him after casting it aside and look at him through her lashes. With one hand pressed to the small of her back, and the other in her hair, he buried his face in her chest, kissing and suckling and nuzzling at the swell of her breasts, before trailing hot kisses up her collarbones, her neck, her throat, her jaw, and, finally, back to her lips. He kissed her with a new found hunger, that sent her head spinning and an electrifying heat between her legs. “Severus,” she breathed, and he groaned lowly against her lips. 

She thumbed the rough black canvas of the buttons of his frock coat, and looked up at him with wide, eager eyes, pupils blown wide with desire. He nodded, and wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue as she eased each button out of its stiff hole. She pushed the frock coat (that had been the source of many a schoolgirl fantasy) off his shoulders and groaned at the sight of more buttons as she revealed his starched white shirt.   
A low laugh rumbled deep in his chest and she pouted up at him.   
“Patience, sweetness,” he said softly, tapping her pouty lip. His large hands spread over her back, before rubbing over her bra clasp. “May I?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow up.   
“Oh, please,” she whispered, every nerve ending thrumming with anticipation. She shivered as the cold air stiffened her nipples into, in Severus’s opinion, rather delectable peaks. He trailed a thumb over one, and was pleased to see how responsive his little lover was. She gasped and shuddered, biting her lip hard so as not to disgrace herself.   
He continued to stroke and pinch and flick her nipples, moving between each side. He thought he may pass out as all the blood in his body rushed to his groin when she tipped her head back and let out a guttural moan as he wrapped his lips around one. She grasped his hair, massaging his scalp as he suckled, but tugged sharply when he flicked his sharp, devilish tongue over them. He re-emerged once he had had his fill and thought Hermione might actually scalp him out of her pleasure. 

He licked his lips as Hermione reached, once again, to his buttons. “Can I? Please?” She whispered. He nodded and she smiled, stroking her hair as she unbuttoned his shirt, leaving him only in his trousers (which now felt considerably tighter). He tensed when she pushed his shirt off too; his pale chest was slightly toned, though littered with the scars left by Voldemort’s torture and interrogations. And worst of all, his old Dark Mark stood bold against his white skin. He turned his head, half expecting Hermione to push him away in revulsion, but she did nothing of the sort. Instead, she pressed kisses across his shoulders and chest, stroked and kissed each scar (of which there were many) and pressed her lips to his dark mark.   
“I’ve been researching how to get rid of this,” she whispered, and he let out a noise of content, clutching his little know it all close to his chest.  
“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.   
“Hush,” was her response, and her tentative stroking of his waist shut him up very well.   
She moved to rid him of the burden of his tight trousers, and he allowed her to leave her in his grey boxers. When her hands went to tug at those, he stilled them, and she looked up, about to apologise.   
“No,” he murmured, kissing her ear, before sinking his teeth into the sensitive lobe. He trailed kisses down her body and hummed as she kicked off her jeans. He smirked, thumbing the lace of her underwear thoughtfully.   
“Tell me, Miss Granger,” He said teasingly, putting on his very best teaching voice. “Did your ‘experimentation’ with Krum ever get so far as this?” He asked, pressing a kiss to her core, through her underwear. She squirmed and sighed softly.   
“No it was mainly-ah-” another kiss “light to heavy-hmmm- petting,” she groaned as he eased her sodden knickers down her thighs and cast them aside. He looked up and pressed another, firmer kiss, directly over her clitoris before pulling away. She propped herself up on her elbows and watched, intrigued- was he really going to engage in cunnilingus with her? She had heard Lavender and Parvati giggling about it in the dormitories since about fifth or sixth year. Apparently Toby Fletcher from the year above them was very good at it, and it was rumoured that Oliver Wood was wicked with his tongue. 

She was tugged out of her thoughts by Severus lightly stroking her labia, before slipping a finger into her wet heat. She whimpered slightly and thrust her hips up. “M-more please?” She asked and he happily complied, slowly pumping his finger for a while, before adding another, occasionally brushing his thumb over her clit. She writhed at his ministrations and panted “You’re much better at this than Viktor,”  
Severus looked up at her and smirked. “I appreciate the compliment, my dear, but I want to hear no other man’s name on your lips but mine,”   
And in that moment, he buried his head between her legs, lapping at her arousal and flicking his sinful tongue over her clit. Her breathless moans crescendoed and she ground her hips subconsciously against his lips. He groaned, sending delicious vibrations through her core, and she writhed, thighs shuddering and hips bucking as she fell over the edge, crying out his name. He continued to lap at her heat, drinking up her sweet, musky, slightly briny nectar, before pulling away. She blushed at the sight of her wetness gleaming obscenely on his chin and hands, and moaned once again as he licked his lips and lapped her juices off his fingers, his eyes never once leaving hers. 

Still shaking she moaned, biting her lip and reaching for his straining erection. He kissed her gently and stroked her flushed face softly.   
“No, not tonight,” he murmured.  
“But-But… you… I should… return the favour?” She mumbled bashfully. He smiled gently and rubbed her side gently, pulling her to his chest as he settled down.   
“Not tonight,” he repeated. “You don’t need to return any favours at all. I’m a grown man, not some inexperienced boy who thinks his lover owes him sex,” he said seriously. “It is pleasure enough for me just to see you come undone like that. Sleep,” he said, kissing her forehead gently. She opened her mouth to protest, but he pressed a finger to her lips. “Sleep,” he murmured. “You’ll definitely need the energy, my love,”   
***  
“Morning,” Hermione mumbled, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “How long have you been up?” She asked.   
“Oh, not long,” he said, nonchalantly. That was a lie. He had been up a fair while, gazing at her, trying to memorise every detail he could. She nodded and settled back down, so that her back was pressed tight against his stomach, his arms around her protectively. She began wriggling to get comfy again and he hissed as her rump ground against his morning hardness. She blushed furiously, but nibbled her lip mischievously. She did, after all, remember him saying something about needing her energy… 

She wriggled her hips a little more, feigning blissful ignorance, before settling into a tight circular motion of her hips. Severus clutched her closer and groaned lowly, pressing his face into the base of her neck and kissing and sucking a sweet mark there, before sinking his teeth into her shoulder. She whimpered softly and reached a hand down to caress her naked sex, toying with her clit as Severus frotted his clothed cock against her bare arse. He quickly caught on, and used those masterful hands of his to knock hers aside and replace their movements with a skilled stroking motion. She whined and tipped her head back, feeling a sort of wetness Against her back. This must be the ‘pre-cum’. She blushed softly and reached a hand behind her to grip his arse, pulling him tighter to her. “Please, Severus,” she whispered and he hummed his agreement, rolling onto his back. She whimpered from the loss of contact, and quickly turned to him.   
“Those. Off. Now.” She mumbled, biting her lip and looking at him through her lashes. “Please,” she added, slightly meek, and he grinned as he tugged them over his hips. 

Hermione couldn’t help but gulp as she eyes his weeping cock, heavy and flushed with arousal. She bit her lip as she looked up at him, and a nod from him had her rushing to stroke his velvety skin in her small, soft hands. He grunted in response, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back, not caring about the spasm of pain that shot through his throat. He allowed her to explore each and every ridge and curve and vein of his cock, and thrust into her hands when she teased her fingertip over the weeping head.   
“Oh… Hermione,” he said, voice strained. “Please, I won’t…” he groaned again. The frotting Against her pert arse before, and the delicate pumping of her hand had him writhing.   
She blushed deeply and nodded. He began to move in order to make love to her with him on top, but she pushed his chest down, and set herself up with one knee either side of him. She nodded her consent, and after murmuring a contraceptive charm, he began to lower her onto his throbbing manhood, one hand gripping the base of his cock, the other guiding her hips as her sweet hot tightness engulfed him. He let out the most obscene noise Hermione had ever heard anyone make when he was fully sheathed to the hilt, and she moaned at the slightly uncomfortable, yet not entirely unpleasant, stretching. As she whined and adjusted to his girth, he rubbed soft circles into her hips with his thumbs, soothing her down, and making a mental note to brew a pain relief potion later, if the loss of her maidenhead was too uncomfortable for her. He gritted his teeth so as not to jolt his hips into her, instead waiting for her to start rolling her hips against his. 

And sweet Merlin, did it feel good.

He gripped her hips with both hands as she settled into a comfortable grinding rhythm, something of a figure-of-eight with her hips. She tipped her head back and arched her back. He took the opportunity to grab and squeeze at her breasts bared before hip, flicking his thumbs over her nipples in the manner than had her thrumming the night before. She gasped and had to use a hand to support herself, already feeling her joints become weak as he stimulated parts of her that had never been stimulated before.   
He groaned lowly and grabbed her hips again. “Hermione,” he muttered between hard breaths. “I need-I want-ah!” He moaned out, finding it rather difficult to articulate his desires. He bucked his hips up, and Hermione seemed to get the message. She began bouncing atop his cock eagerly, her breasts moving wonderfully in time with movements. He pulled her close to him, so that he could bite and suck at her nipples, while she remained bouncing. 

Together, their breathing became more and more laboured, and Hermione’s low moans turned to louder, shorter, higher pitched exclamations as he began pounding into her from below. He well and truly lost his infamous self-control, grabbing at any part of her he could reach and suckling at her breasts like a man starved, moaning throatily. All it took was a few quick flicks of her clit, synchronised with a lick to her nipple before she was yelping his name and shuddering through a blinding orgasm. Feeling her heat clench around him even more than it already was tipped him over the edge, and he came with a guttural groan of “Oh, Hermione,” .

Panting and spent they nuzzled back into each other’s arms, the dull ache of their passionate copulation already blooming between Hermione’s legs. Rubbing her side, he pressed kiss after kiss to every inch of her face he could reach, earning him soft breathless laughs.

 

***  
Neither of them knew quite how they ended up in this wonderful predicament of theirs. Neither were complaining. Severus, nor Hermione, had no idea how they would explain their passion to friends and colleagues: to Mrs Weasley, who had always wanted Hermione for a daughter-in-law; to Harry and Ron, who had spent the best part of the last eight years calling Harry a greasy git; to professors and ex-order members who would blabber on about him being twenty years her senior; to the Daily Prophet, who would surely try to capitalise off a third of the Golden Trio being involved with the surly sinning saviour of the wizarding world; to Mr and Mrs Granger (should they ever be recovered), who would be rather concerned that he was their daughter’s old professor…

 

Hermione pressed her face into her lover’s beautifully marked chest, the definition of muscle on his lean frame reminding her of safety, the ridges of his spine reminding her of stability, the warm Severus-scented embrace that reminded her of hope. 

Severus nuzzled his nose into the mass of unruly curls atop his lover’s head, the gentle tickle of them reminding him of youthful energy, the softness of her flesh reminding him of comfort, and the pleasant weight of her in his arms and against his chest reminding him of a home for his healing heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed my first attempt at a proper Snamione story. More to come!


End file.
